


Need

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 09:39:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2145951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn't know which way is up, but he knows who he wants. Sort of.</p><p>Warnings: Language, angst, mentions of suicidal thoughts and non-con sexual activities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need

**Need**  
  
  
“OH FOR _FUCK'S_ SAKE!”  
  
Harry winced as Ron's furious bellow broke out following a large crash over the otherwise quiet grounds. Flicking the pile of boulders he was levitating back to the grass, he turned around and narrowed his eyes. Ron was sprawled on his back some twenty feet away, a pile of splintered wood covering his mid-section. He couldn't hear it, but seeing Ron's mouth moving meant that the redhead was still swearing, too.  
  
“Hey...” Harry dropped into a crouch when he reached Ron and began clearing the wood away. “What happened?”  
  
“Bloody wasp,” Ron muttered sulkily, holding up his left forearm which bore many freckles and a reddening lump where he'd been stung. “I was trying to reattach the shutters. You know, the shutters that nobody ever uses and never will use but have to go back in the name of making everything the bloody same.”  
  
Harry snorted beneath his breath at Ron's accurate sarcasm and cleared the last of the wood off his friend's belly. Ron remained where he was, flat on his black, blinking up at the sky. Harry let his eyes linger over his form for a moment, appreciating the length and the flatness of his tummy, before forcing himself to look away.  
  
“You're lucky it didn't land on your head,” he said finally, dropping back onto his backside and bringing his knees up to drape his arms over the them.  
  
It was too hot for the physical work they were doing, but term was due to start in a month and Hogwarts was still far from repaired. Unless they wanted the students to get wet when eating breakfast and for their teachers to fall out of the gaping holes where windows used to be during lessons, they needed to keep working despite the heat. He and Ron had been packed off to complete some of the more aesthetic tasks after a long, hard fight to try and get several trapped curses out of the Transfiguration classroom.  
  
Ron fell silent after a while, reaching up to rub the sweat from his brow and then wiping his hand on the grass. Between them, the same old comfortable silence settled in, the kind where neither felt the need to make small talk. The silences had tripled in frequency since the Battle. Ron, it seemed, was the only person who _didn't_ want to talk to Harry endlessly about everything that had happened. Even Hermione, whom Harry had shared many a comfortable stretch of peace and quiet with, seemed to have found her mouth again. Ron, however, was quiet more often than he was chatty these days and Harry liked him all the more for it.  
  
Without getting up, Harry used his wand to mend the fallen shutters and levitate them into place either side of Professor Sprout's bedroom window. He fixed them in place with a handy spell one of the Ministry restorers had taught him. Ron laughed bitterly beneath his breath and shook his head.  
  
“They're pretty ugly shutters,” Harry conceded. He dropped his wand on the grass and took his glasses off to rub away the sweat on the bridge of his nose.  
  
“Useless,” Ron added with an air of finality.  
  
Slipping his glasses back on, Harry looked over the grounds. He'd never been at Hogwarts so late in the summer and it was beautiful. His home bloomed with wildflowers, wildlife and sunshine and he found himself battling the strangest urge to jump in the lake for a swim.  
  
“Let's go for a walk,” he suggested, surprising himself with the spontaneity. “Clear the cobwebs a bit.  
  
Ron grunted as he hauled himself to standing. Harry took in his freckled skin and the slightly pink tinge around the neckline of his t-shirt.  
  
“You look shattered,” Harry blurted.  
  
“You look like shit too,” Ron responded defensively. “It's hot.” It was. Harry didn't argue.  
  
They started down towards the lake, both keeping quiet. Parched grass crunched underfoot and Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and acknowledged the faint grumble of hunger in his belly.  
  
“Feels weird to think we'll be back here again in a few weeks' time,” Harry said. “Wearing uniform.”  
  
They reached the shore of the lake, where the small amount of sand was dampened by the water. Touched by the urge to jump in again, Harry threw himself down on the grass bordering the tiny sand strip and loosened the laces of his trainers. He kicked them off, peeled off his socks and turned up the end of his jeans. Gathering everything in his hand, he walked for the water which turned out to be deliciously cool despite the sweltering heat.  
  
“Oh god, this is good.” He moaned and closed his eyes, letting the gently lapping water seep around his ankles.  
  
It didn't take long for Ron to join him, standing there ankle-deep in the clear water. Harry started to walk and Ron followed a few paces behind. Something about it made Harry deeply uncomfortable, almost as if Ron were allowing him to walk ahead due to higher status. He slowed until Ron broke even with him and then matched his stride. They had to tread carefully, taking care to avoid the rocks and slippery weeds which grew at the lake's edge. Glancing to his left, Harry saw Ron deep in thought about something.  
  
“I can hear the wheels turning in your head.” He grinned at Ron. The smile in response was weak at best. “What? I was only joking.”  
  
  
“I know.” Ron's voice was stiff.  
  
“Oh god. Not you too. Please don't go all funny on me now,” Harry begged, stopping dead in the water and staring at Ron's continuing back. “Please. Hermione's going for the most words said in a minute and half of your family are high on calming draughts. What's wrong?”  
  
Ron just kept walking and, frustrated, Harry kicked the water, causing it to splash up his thighs. He hissed at the shock and swore. Ron kept walking.  
  
Harry supposed his comment was unfair. If Ron was down, he'd have the right to be. After all, he'd just buried a brother only two years older than him. Some of his friends had died. He'd killed people.  
  
Overcome with remorse, he sped up, splashing through the water to catch up. He grabbed Ron's arm and pulled him to a stop. When Ron turned to look at him, Harry saw what he feared: red-rimmed eyes and a miserable expression.  
  
“I'm sorry,” he said automatically. “I didn't mean-”  
  
“Yes you did.” Ron shook his head and turned away, stepping off the sand up onto the grass. He retreated to the shade of a tree and sat down under it.  
  
Harry stared dumbly at him for a while, taking in the solitary profile of his best redhead beneath the tree.  
  
 _Best friend!_ His mind automatically corrected him. He joined Ron in the coolness of the tree's shadow.  
  
“D'you want to talk about it?” He asked awkwardly, rubbing the end of his nose as he tended to do when he felt nervous. He threw his shoes away and wriggled his toes into the grass.  
  
“I don't know what I want,” Ron said quietly. He was leaning against the bark of the tree, his t-shirt tight around his broadening shoulders and chest. Once more Harry forced himself to look away.  
  
He was spending too much time looking at Ron and someone was going to notice. Harry had no idea what he was playing at, but he couldn't stop himself. He had half convinced himself that it was jealousy – that Ron was filling out so beautifully that Harry felt scrawny and ugly beside him. It would have been a complete role reversal. He knew all about Ron's insecurities when it came to being his best friend. The looks which Ron sometimes shot him were no less than murderous. And then they begged – _'could you just stop being you, for one second?'_  
  
Harry would fill that wish for Ron, if he could.  
  
One of Ron's feet patted mindlessly against the grass, the toes relaxed and soft as they moved up and down. Transfixed by the sight, Harry watched greedily for a moment, forgetting that Ron might see. The copper hairs furring the ankle which poked out of the damp hem of Ron's jeans caught the light for a moment, blazing into life. Grains of sand clung to the outlines of his toes, creeping in between them. Freckles, as ever, dotted the skin.  
  
His breath caught in his throat as the foot suddenly came towards him and landed in his lap. Without looking up or speaking, Harry put his hands to it, tingling all over from the contact. His fingers itched to explore, to test more of the soft flesh which he could feel on the sole, and to run his fingertips over the bones on the top. The second foot followed shortly after. When Harry dared to look up, Ron had tipped his head back against the tree and his eyes were closed. Unsure of what was going on but unwilling to ruin the moment, Harry pulled Ron's feet into his belly and held them close, marvelling at both their size and their heat. The lake walk had eliminated any odour.  
  
“Harry...”  
  
“Mm?” He responded without thinking, his eyes on the prizes in his lap. “Oh.” He leaned back, letting go of Ron's feet.  
  
“Don't stop.” Ron's voice was a whisper.  
  
“Okay.” Harry cursed the croak in his voice. He returned his hands to their previous position.  
  
He thought he heard a small moan from deep in Ron's throat.  
  
“Harry, I need to talk to you.”  
  
“Okay. What about?”  
  
“Hogwarts.”  
  
“All we talk about is Hogwarts.” Harry laughed and made a face.  
  
Ron looked at him with an unsettling gaze; it was troubled and sad but hopeful at the same time.  
  
“It started pretty soon after the Battle. And it's just built and built.”  
  
“What has?”  
  
“The thing I want to talk about, but you're not going to like it.”  
  
Harry's stomach seemed to shrivel. Ron had noticed him staring and this was the knock back. Blinking fast, Harry contemplated legging it. He'd faced enough hardship in his eighteen years, surely, to grant him an easy exit now?  
  
He braced himself for the rebuke. His fingers gripped Ron's feet harder than he intended, but he couldn't loosen them for love nor money.  
  
“I don't want to come back in September.” Ron looked at him with wide, uncertain eyes. His expression was nothing but worry.  
  
The wind went out of Harry like someone had stuck a pin in him. He sat there staring in horror at the boy who had grown into a man, his best friend, still painfully immature at times, but suddenly seeming more grown up than any of them. The thought of navigating a return to education without Ron was one that Harry didn't know how to process. Immediately the words came to his tongue to dismiss Ron's suggestion, to tell him not to be stupid.  
  
But that, even Harry could see, wouldn't have been fair.  
  
“Right...” he said finally, realising that he had to say _something._  
  
“Are you pissed off?” Ron asked.  
  
“A bit.” Harry fought the anger bubbling inside of his chest.  
  
They'd all agreed, they'd made a sort of pact. They'd go back to Hogwarts as a three and leave as a three a year later, even though they'd all be nineteen and fed up with authority. There were certain things they needed to do together, and going back to Hogwarts was one of them. Ron backing out now would hurt. A lot.  
  
He reached up and rubbed at his chest, trying to soothe the ache which had sprung up there. Ron continued to watch him silently.  
  
“Why?” Harry asked finally.  
  
“I just don't think that I'd be able to do it. To slip back into that routine where you eat when you're told to, you suffer through things you hate purely to get a certificate at the end of it.”  
  
“You don't hate Defence,” Harry pointed out.  
  
“I hate learning.” Ron shrugged. “I'm too thick for it, Harry. I don't see the point of putting myself through that when I don't need to. Sure, maybe I'll never be Minister for Magic without any NEWTs but, y'know what? I can live with that.”  
  
Struggling to find words, Harry stared at him again. More than anything, he thought as he sat there, he hated the pain on Ron's face as they spoke. It clearly had been eating away at him, this confession. Perhaps he'd been trying to find the right moment, like Harry had been seeking one himself. He had no idea what he'd say if he ever found it, though.  
  
“Have you told Hermione?” Harry asked, his mind racing ahead, trying to work things out. How would their relationship hold up if Ron was in Devon and Hermione in Scotland?  
  
“She knows.” Ron's eyes dipped down to the grass between them. “It's the reason why we decided to call things off.”  
  
“You – you what?” Harry gaped.  
  
Had he been walking around blind for weeks on end? Ron and Hermione had seemed close enough to him, but clearly he'd been wrong.  
  
“We've decided that now isn't the right time for a relationship. We don't know what we want. Just... sustained by an idea for all those years. Ideas aren't enough to live on.”  
  
Harry couldn't help the ugly blush which spread over his face then. He'd had plenty of ideas about himself and Ron, but he'd abruptly changed his train of thought every time they'd popped up. He'd filed them away and whilst he never took them out to look at again, new ones came all the time. Somehow, nearly all of them included finding out what Ron's mouth tasted like.  
  
Feeling sick, Harry took some shallow breaths to try and calm down. He felt dizzy. Suddenly he needed the chatterers back – he needed the noise to be able to hide his feelings, to stop him from saying what he really wanted to say.  
  
And like a light bulb blaring to life, Harry knew that was why they had surrounded him. That they'd assumed he would be an emotional time bomb after the Battle, ready to explode at any moment. They'd had him pegged out correctly.  
  
He clumsily got to his feet, letting Ron's own thump down onto the grass. Ron looked up at him, his mouth frozen in a grimace.  
  
“Right,” Harry said, the word tight and alien-sounding.  
  
Suddenly it was too hot, he was too sweaty and it was all unbearable. Tearing his t-shirt off over his head, he strode back towards the lake. He loosened the button of his jeans and kicked out of them before he stepped onto the sand. He waded in, letting the cold of the water waken him, before he plunged in face first. Too late he realised he'd forgotten to remove his glasses and he reached for them just before they slipped from the end of his nose. When he broke the surface, the glass was beaded with water and he could see nothing. He trod water, panting, trying to orientate himself to where the bank was. He found it and turned.  
  
Ron was no longer under the tree and was nowhere to be seen.  
  
***  
“Bill, Charlie, you'll go and look for him, won't you?” Molly begged, her voice heightened by fear and her recent bereavement.  
  
Harry saw the look which swapped between the two eldest Weasley children: one of resignation, one of grit. Between them they had shouldered a lot of the responsibility since the Battle. Organising Fred's funeral, for one thing. With parents incapacitated by grief, they had no option. Harry had helped where he could. Together they seemed to regard him as an equal, which never failed to unnerve him. Harry didn't feel equal to the two accomplished, handsome wizards who looked at him at that precise moment.  
  
“He didn't give you any clues?” Charlie asked again, reaching for the back door.  
  
Harry shook his head but followed them out into the back garden, which was bathed in the fading dusk sunlight. He shut the door behind him.  
  
“Charlie, wait.”  
  
The brothers turned and stepped back towards him.  
  
“This is my fault,” Harry said quickly. “We... we were talking earlier and Ron told me something in confidence and I... acted pretty shittily.”  
  
“So he was upset?” Bill clarified.  
  
“Well that makes much more sense.” Charlie actually exhaled with relief. “Why didn't you say?”  
  
“Because it was... private. And I didn't want to have to say in front of your Mum because she would have dragged it out of me, and it's not my place to say it.”  
  
“Is it serious?”  
  
Harry dragged a hand back through his hair and winced when his fingers got stuck. He'd not brushed it after his dip in the lake.  
  
“Yes but no. It's a good thing. For Ron, anyway.”  
  
“You're acting really strange, mate,” Charlie observed, his eyes narrowed.  
  
“I'm fine,” Harry lied. “Please, go and find Ron.”  
  
“Ron's here.” A sullen voice spoke out from behind Bill and Charlie. “No need to find him.”  
  
“Where the fuck have you been?!” Bill cried angrily, punching Ron in the arm before yanking him into a stranglehold hug.  
  
Harry looked away, feeling like an intruder on the raw grief that poured from Bill's every fibre as he clung onto Ron. None of this family wanted to lose another member. They loved each other with a ferocity that Harry hadn't known could exist when he first met them, aged eleven.  
  
Something began to burn in his chest and he turned away, alarmed to find his eyes damp and his throat thick.  
  
“Let's get you inside before Mum loses it completely,” Charlie ruled, prying Ron from Bill's grasp and frogmarching him towards the house.  
  
***  
Harry had stayed outside for the majority of Molly's ranting, but his ears were ringing nonetheless. He had no idea where Ron was, where he was nursing the recently inflicted stinging wounds imparted by his mother's words. Molly had not held back.  
  
 _'You need to wake up, young man. There's too much hurt in this family at the minute and you'd best pull your head out of your backside and feel it. You're not the only one who can't cope with things at the minute!'_  
  
Harry sensed that Molly had been building up for a while and Ron was copping a lot of flack he shouldn't have. It hurt him to know how much Ron would be hurting.  
  
He jumped as the back door opened and slammed in quick succession. Charlie leant against it and closed his eyes, sighing with relief. His fingers automatically fumbled at his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a Muggle lighter. He had lit it before he realised Harry was there. He exhaled smoke and wafted it away with his hand and apologised.  
  
“Nah you're fine.” Harry shrugged and resumed his observation of the garden.  
  
“I love her dearly but I wish she'd shut the fuck up,” Charlie said ruefully. “Poor Ron. He doesn't deserve even half of what she's throwing at him.”  
  
“Does anyone ever stand up to her?” Harry wondered aloud.  
  
“I just tried. Told her to lay off him. But she threw a potato peeler at my head, hence my swift exit.” Charlie laughed to himself and eventually Harry joined in.  
  
“How're you?” Charlie asked, when the mirth had died down. He sucked lazily at his cigarette.  
  
“I'm...” Harry trailed off, unsure of how to answer.  
  
“I think you need to talk to my littlest brother,” Charlie said astutely. “Something's going on.”  
  
“What?” Harry asked, panicked. Was he really so transparent?  
  
“Oh calm down.” Charlie smiled at him. “I won't pry. As long as you promise me something.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Look after him, Harry.”  
  
“What? I don't know what you-”  
  
“Shush. Else my dear old Mum will hear and you'll have an earache to match Ron's.”  
  
“How did you-”  
  
Charlie held up one hand to silence up and smoked the last of his cigarette with the other. He crushed the butt beneath his foot and picked up the evidence before speaking again.  
  
“I have eyes,” he said quietly. “All anyone has to do is see the way you look at him.”  
  
Harry felt the ugly blush claiming his face again. It burned.  
  
“Look after him,” Charlie reiterated, as the back door opened and Ron slammed it behind him.  
  
“I need to talk to you,” he spat tersely at Harry, ignoring Charlie completely as he stomped towards the orchard.  
  
Charlie waited until Ron was out of earshot before he snorted through his laughter.  
  
“Always a charmer.” He winked at Harry and headed back into the house.  
  
Harry stood still. All had gone quiet in the kitchen and he hoped that meant that Molly had finally run out of steam. Fred might have gone but he had left his mother's tenacity alive and well. It was so often directed at her deceased son in the past that Harry wondered if perhaps Molly would lose some of her fire.  
  
 _Nope._  
  
Pulling himself up to his full height and lengthening his tense neck, Harry set off after Ron, his heart in his mouth. The grass was long and unruly, left to its own devices in the summer sun whilst everybody dealt with their grief instead. Harry found joy in kicking through it. Ron was waiting against the boundary fence, leaning his elbows on it, looking out at the fields beyond.  
  
“Um... Hi.” Harry wanted to kick himself for the awkward introduction.  
  
“Hey.” Ron didn't turn to look at him.  
  
Harry leant his back against the fence and waited for Ron to speak. His heart still hammered in his chest.  
  
“I'm sorry for running off.”  
  
“That's okay.”  
  
“I just... couldn't deal with it. You. Your reaction, I mean.”  
  
Ron shook his head, clearly frustrated with himself.  
  
“I'm sorry for the way I went off on one.”  
  
“No, my mum just went off on one... you just went weird.”  
  
“Well I wasn't expecting it.” It was a weak defence and Harry knew it. He sent Ron a nervous smile.  
  
“I didn't think you'd like it but... I didn't think you'd...”  
  
Ron fell silent and went back to looking out over the dusky fields.  
  
“I should tell you something,” Harry blurted, his own bravery taking his breath away. He had no idea what he was about to say but at the same time knew he was about to say _something_ , something big which would change their friendship forever.  
  
“What?” Ron didn't look at him.  
  
“I've been... having all these...” he groaned. His tongue wasn't playing ball. “I've been looking... at you.” He winced with embarrassment.  
  
“Well, you do tend to look at someone when you talk to them, and we're always together, so-”  
  
“No, I mean _looking_ looking at you.”  
  
Ron turned his head then. He looked slightly bewildered. “Why?”  
  
“I don't know.” Harry lied. “I just can't... stop.”  
  
He hated the way his voice sounded disjointed and the way he was unable to string a sentence together. He hated that he couldn't just say what he felt.  
  
He wasn't really aware as his hand rose, or when his fingertips brushed Ron's hair away from his brow. The big blue eyes he'd grown so attached to widened as they took him and his actions in and Harry prepared himself for Ron to bolt.  
  
He jumped when a warm arm curled around his waist and Ron pulled him close.  
  
“Thank fuck,” Ron whispered, nosing against Harry's right cheek. “Thank fuck... I thought it was just me and that you'd hate me.”  
  
As if Imperiused and with no conscious control over his actions, Harry pressed his lips to Ron's and kissed him. His neck ached from craning and he had to rise onto tiptoes, but he managed to keep the contact. He let his own hands smooth down over Ron's back and held on tight.  
  
He marvelled at Ron's adventurous side as his tongue sought entry into Harry's mouth. He allowed it and moaned as they made deeper, more intimate contact. His blood seemed to plunge south and his cock stiffened. Somehow he ignored his embarrassment and pressed his body flush against Ron's, finding a pleasing firmness and strength there. He rolled his hips and moaned directly into Ron's face.  
  
They broke apart and stared at one another for a moment. Ron's chest rose and fell in sharp pants.  
  
“Come back to Hogwarts,” Harry breathed, sinking his fingers into the hair at the nape of Ron's neck. “Please. Please come back. I can't do it without you.”  
  
“Maybe you don't need to do it at all?” Ron whispered back, ducking his head and kissing Harry's forehead.  
  
It was so insanely intimate that Harry thought he was going to vomit. Ron's arms came up around his shoulders and kept him close. The weight of his chin rested on Harry's head.  
  
“Why are you even going back? The Ministry would have you in a heartbeat...” Ron mouthed into his hair.  
  
“Because it's home,” Harry immediately murmured back.  
  
Suddenly, his eyes were stinging and his throat was flaming hot. Emotion had come for him at exactly the wrong time, or maybe it was the right time as he had someone to catch him.  
  
He stuffed his face in Ron's front.  
  
***  
Time was a dickhead, Harry had decided. Since the Battle it had leisurely ticked by, each day seeming just long enough for summer with early mornings and long evenings. But ever since Ron had opened up the possibility of something more between them in the Weasley orchard, time was flying by, hurtling towards the day when Hogwarts would be home once again.  
  
Harry still didn't have a firm yes or no from Ron about whether he was planning to return. Ron, Harry knew, was still waiting for his considerations on whether he really needed to go back anyway. It had become something that neither of them mentioned, even though they'd have to soon, else Harry would be heading north on a steam train and Ron would be all alone in Devon.  
  
The thought of being apart from him stung like the constant re-opening of a painful wound.  
  
Ron had held him in the orchard for a long time, seeming to know that he shouldn't let go and that Harry _needed_ him. He'd been the one to break away, looking up into Ron's face with wonder and fear.  
  
There'd been something very right about being nestled in Ron's arms, against his lanky but firm frame, smelling his very essence in the fading summer light.  
  
Since that evening, they disappeared to Ron's bedroom as early as was feasible for the family to believe they were actually sleeping, and then...  
  
Harry sucked in a breath as he thought about. They'd not exactly gone far - a lot of kissing, cuddling and on a few occasions, some touching. But it was enough to make him hard when he thought about it.  
  
All the while, Charlie slunk about The Burrow shooting them knowing looks, whilst the rest of the Weasleys blatantly noticed, but said nothing, about his distance from Ginny. Harry had no idea what he was going to do about that particular problem; he'd added it to the teetering pile of things in his mind that he was ignoring.  
  
Ginny planned to return to Hogwarts to finish her education. When she said planned, it was more a case of Molly haranguing her until she agreed. There was no question of her dropping out like Fred and George had. It was odd to think that if he went back he would be learning alongside her. It would have been perfect for their relationship, if either of them actually seemed to want it.  
  
Whilst he had been keeping his distance from her, Ginny had been doing exactly the same with him. She no longer sought him out to chat and there had certainly been no attempts at rekindling anything romantic between them.  
  
He found the complete reversal hard to process. He supposed, like Ron, he had grown up with the thought that he found Ginny attractive, and that after Ron's approval had been sought, they would be together, and then after Voldemort was dead, they could be together properly if he survived. It was all a chain of ideas perpetuated by a few kisses and gropes along the way. How were those ideas ever to become a reality when the very fabric of their beings had been changed so completely by the war they'd just fought and won?  
  
It made his head hurt to think about it too much, hence he added it to the pile.  
  
Ignoring things didn't make time slow down, however.  
  
***  
“Ron.” Harry whispered urgently in his ear, but Ron was too groggy to sense the tone.  
  
“Wha?”  
  
“You need to move, your Mum's outside the door,” he hissed, trying to free himself from under the bulk of Ron's frame.  
  
The clock told him that it was nearing midday on a Saturday. Molly probably felt she'd let them have more than enough time in bed. Now she was banging sharply on the door, demanding to know why it was locked when it was never locked.  
  
“Young man, if you don't open this door in ten seconds I'm blasting it open and woe betide you if I find you doing something disgusting.”  
  
Harry had to hand it to her – raising six boys, she had to have seen her fair amount of indecency in her house.  
  
“I'm up,” Ron cried, jerking upright.  
  
Harry could have laughed at him, with his hair sticking up at all angles, drool marks at the corners of his mouth, wearing nothing but his pants and sporting a rather large boner. He didn't, for the sake of not getting thumped.  
  
“I'm up,” Ron repeated, clumsily staggering from the bed and looking around for the t-shirt which Harry had peeled off him and tossed somewhere unknown the night before. His mother counted down outside on the landing.  
  
Harry threw himself across the room and onto his camp bed, dragging the sheets with him so the bed looked slept in. He laid down for effect and pretended to be bleary eyed. He'd actually been awake for a few hours, watching Ron sleep, but neither Ron nor Molly needed to know that.  
  
Ron finally wrenched open the door after making sure his top covered his morning wood.  
  
Molly marched into the room and turned around to stare at them both, hands on her hips.  
  
“Up.”  
  
“I _am_ up!” Ron protested indignantly. He then melted into a yawn.  
  
“I need you two to do some work in the garden,” Molly said. “All very well getting Hogwarts up and running but my house is falling to bits in the meantime.”  
  
“That's 'cause it's propped up on good will and a few sticks.” Ron yawned again and dodged the clip round the ear Molly gave him.  
  
“In the garden. Ten minutes.”  
  
“Breakfast?” Ron asked hopefully as she marched past him.  
  
“You can have lunch with everyone else later.”  
  
They listened to her stomp down the stairs.  
  
“The war made her mean,” Ron surmised glumly. He quietly closed the bedroom door again.  
  
Harry watched as the redhead crossed the room again and fell back down onto his bed.  
  
“S'time?” Ron yawned again.  
  
“Twelve.”  
  
“Oh for fuck's sake, I've only been asleep for six hours.” Ron rolled over and stuffed his face back into his pillow.  
  
Harry couldn't help his little blush and filthy grin. He'd been the reason Ron had only had six hours of sleep.  
  
As it turned out, his physical explorations of Ronald Weasley were much more fun than he could ever have realised.  
  
***  
It was the last day of August. The night had long since drawn in and Harry sat in the back garden of The Burrow, staring up at the stars. They were all stuffed full from a magnificent Molly Weasley feast and Harry had long since undone the button of his jeans for comfort. Beside him, Ron sat with his fingers curled around a bottle of cider, laughing easily at Charlie's tales of madness from his days in Romania.  
  
Harry let himself become absorbed in the sounds of Ron's happiness. It was a laugh he'd heard so many times over the years they'd been friends, but he'd never really appreciated until he'd been able to hear it close up. The little breathy chuckle as he tickled where he knew Ron was ticklish. The hearty belly laugh – a trait which Ron shared with every single one of his brothers. The little sighs of contentment he was sure that Ron thought he couldn't hear, the ones that normally came when Ron was holding him, his face buried in Harry's hair.  
  
It made him tingle to think of it.  
  
But still the clock ticked down. He'd outright asked Ron about Hogwarts and got an honest answer back – that Ron really didn't know. Harry had stormed off and sworn a lot. Things had been cooler between them since and he hated it.  
  
“Right. All of you Hogwarts lot off to bed, now. Charlie, clear this up whilst I take the leftovers in.”  
  
“When did your last slave die off?” Charlie muttered; Harry saw a flash of Ron's surliness in his expression.  
  
It was odd how Ron was a piece of every single one of his brothers and yet somehow completely different to them all. He had their red hair, expression-laden eyes and freckles but he was unique at the same time.  
  
Harry didn't think he'd ever been so obsessed with someone. Certainly not a girl, though he supposed that he'd come close with Ginny. When daydreams had been all he'd had to get him through terrible teachers and the imminent threat of death, she'd been the perfect distraction.  
  
He felt completely cold towards those daydreams now. Instead he thought more of the period of time when Ron had left them, and how much Harry had missed him. How that was surely more than 'just' friendship. How long had he loved Ron, really? He couldn't put his finger on it.  
  
“Harry?”  
  
His chin slipped off the heel of his hand and he started, looking wildly around for the speaker. Ginny had one hand on his shoulder; he'd not even felt it. There was a time when even the slightest touch from her burned. Ron was nowhere to be seen. Charlie was muttering to himself as he stacked plates with his wand.  
  
“Mm?” he murmured, clambering from the picnic table bench. He felt drunk all of a sudden even though he'd only had one bottle.  
  
“Can we talk?”  
  
 _Oh, fuck._  
  
Harry nodded, not trusting his tongue to produce proper words. He followed Ginny's lead into the darkness, trusting her knowledge and sure-footedness. Eventually they reached the same boundary line in the orchard where he and Ron had shared their first kiss. He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.  
  
“I just thought we should get our story straight before tomorrow.” Her voice was cool and collected. “As to why we're not all over each other like Dragonpox.”  
  
“So...”  
  
“Look. You don't have to apologise and you don't have to justify it. I half expected it, really... that this wouldn't work. Godric knows I've wanted it to but... I just feel it. And I think you do too.”  
  
He nodded mutely in confirmation.  
  
“So... what do we tell them?”  
  
 _That I'm fondling your brother?_  
  
Willing his mind to ease off with the unhelpful suggestions, Harry tried to focus. But in the end, he could find nothing. He shrugged and shook his head.  
  
“I hate that everyone will know and everyone will talk.”  
  
“They'd talk even if we were together. Every single millimetre of our relationship would be scrutinised. You know that.”  
  
Harry nodded again. He'd never thought about what the external reaction to his Ron-shaped attraction would be like. Terrible, probably. Maybe. How did people react to homosexuals in the Wizarding world? He had no idea.  
  
“Shall we just say that neither of us wants a relationship at the minute?” Ginny suggested.  
  
She walked over and picked up one of his hands. Their fingers laced together perfectly; just like his and Ron's did.  
  
“I don't know what's going on with you,” she whispered suddenly. “But there's a light in your eyes which I've never seen before. Whatever you're doing to get that light, Harry, you must keep on doing it. I've never seen you like this before.”  
  
She leant forward and kissed him gently on the cheek. Harry grabbed her waist and held her tightly, smelling the florals of her shampoo and her usual perfume. She hugged him in return and nuzzled her face into his front.  
  
 _Just like Ron does in bed._  
  
Guilt flooded him.  
  
***  
  
“Where's your trunk?” Harry demanded of Ron, as they stood outside The Burrow watching Ministry workers attempting to get everyone's trunk in the magically enlarged boot of the magically enlarged car.  
  
Ron looked at him with sad and guilty eyes.  
  
“What?!” Harry cried.  
  
“Look, I just can't-”  
  
“But you could have told me before now!” Harry heard his voice rising higher with each word, but found that he didn't really care. Ron might as well have punched him.  
  
“I didn't know until this morning. When it came to packing my trunk and finding pants and... I just couldn't be shitted, Harry. I don't need this in my life now.”  
  
“And what about me?” Harry asked, furiously.  
  
“You can manage Hogwarts without me.” Ron gave him a thoroughly unconvincing smile. “And I'll be here at home, waiting for you.”  
  
Torn between sorrow and rage, Harry knew he couldn't lose his cool with the entire family around him. There would be questions to answer.  
  
“I love you, Harry.” The words were said quietly and directly into his ear, but he was too infuriated to hear the emotion in them.  
  
“Fuck you,” he spat, and marched off to the side of the car and threw himself inside.  
  
***  
  
Countryside zoomed past the window in a flash. The sky was grey and Harry felt equally as heavy as he sat there. Their parting had been stiff and unpleasant. Ron had tried to hug him. Harry had found an excuse to duck away. He bitterly regretted that now, sitting in an empty compartment with the sounds of the rest of the school buzzing in his ears. The Hogwarts Express without Ron was just plain horrible.  
  
With the potential of many long, lonely nights ahead of him, nights devoid of the recent comfort he had found, he felt like screaming. He contemplated jumping off the train and running back to London - maybe flying if he felt brave.  
  
A bump in the tracks jostled him in his seat. He took a deep breath and was rewarded by a sharp pain in his lungs. The pain had started during the Battle and never seemed to have disappeared afterwards. It got worse when he became upset.  
  
The compartment door slid open and Hermione threw herself inside, slamming it shut behind her.  
  
“Even with everything that's happened, Draco Malfoy is still insufferable,” she said with disgust, throwing herself down opposite Harry and folding her arms. One leg came up to cross over the other.  
  
Somewhere during their year away camping, Hermione had become a woman. She looked so much more grown up than Harry could ever have imagined.  
  
“Harry?” she peered at him worriedly. “What's wrong?”  
  
Unable to speak, he shook his head and went back to staring out of the window.  
  
“This is about Ron, isn't it?” she asked knowingly. When he didn't answer she just stared at him. “I told him this wouldn't work.”  
  
As usual, when met with silence, Hermione just continued to talk to herself.  
  
“I mean, it's not like you've spent a single minute apart from each other since the Battle ended. Of course you're bound to miss him and find it difficult. I wish I could say he was selfish for staying behind but... I can't. He would be unhappy here.”  
  
Harry looked at her then, trying to gauge exactly what Hermione knew. He grew hot thinking of all the things she could possibly know.  
  
“He would!” she proclaimed. “He's never been one for books or learning. He's clever enough without them, even though he doesn't think he is. He's got this salt of the earth, old soul knowledge thing going on... despite the fact that sometimes, as he himself would put it, he's an 'immature wanker'.”  
  
Harry couldn't help but laugh at Hermione seeking out some of Ron's choice insults. She laughed with him and when it faded, she smiled at him and reached back to try and tame her hair.  
  
“Staying at home will do him the world of good. He can get a job, or not if he doesn't want to... he can try and relax. You know how it all took its toll on him...”  
  
She made a sad face at him and shook her head.  
  
“Ron's fine,” Harry said quietly.  
  
“Is he really though? Are any of us?” She looked down at the floor. “I know I'm not. And you know _you're_ not... so why should Ron be? I think he's just very good at hiding what he's feeling.”  
  
“But he hasn't said anything.”  
  
“He wouldn't, would he?” She rolled her eyes.  
  
“What do you know that I don't?” Harry frowned.  
  
Hermione suddenly looked guilty and as though she had said far too much. She glanced about the cabin shiftily, as though there might be someone hiding in the luggage rack.  
  
“Has Ron ever spoken to you about what it was like when he left us at Christmas?” she asked.  
  
“No. It's never really come up, but I'll admit that I've wondered about it...” That was rather an understatement, but Hermione didn't need to know that.  
  
“There was more than he told us when he first came back. I don't think it's my place to talk about it though.”  
  
“Tell me,” Harry demanded automatically. “You can't say something like that and then just cop out with 'it's not my place to say!' That's not fair!”  
  
“But-”  
  
“Tell me,” he repeated, and shot a locking curse and a Silencio at the door.  
  
“He said he apparated into a band of Snatchers. He said he lost fingernails splinching himself as he tried to get away.”  
  
Harry nodded, eager for her to hurry up. Outside the window, they passed over a beautiful viaduct. They were in Scotland.  
  
“He told me one night... he was a bit drunk. He said that when they caught him and he pretended to be a lost Muggle... they, um. Well. They decided they were going to have their fun with the prize they'd caught.”  
  
Harry went cold. “You mean they-”  
  
Hermione nodded and her eyes glistened. “He wouldn't tell me just how far they got before he managed to get to his wand and get away... but I think it was too far for him to be able to say that it wasn't a sexual assault. He clammed up then, but...”  
  
“But what?”  
  
“It sort of gets worse.”  
  
“How can it get any worse?” Harry moaned.  
  
“Well... you can imagine... Ron had just left us. He'd just been physically assaulted. His mind was in an awful place and he...”  
  
“And he what? What are you trying to tell me?”  
  
Hermione blinked away her tears. “He just walked, and walked... and then he found a railway track. You know... Muggle trains... how fast-”  
  
“No!” Harry cried, unable to keep from jumping to his feet and beginning to pace the cabin. “Oh god, no.”  
  
“But he didn't. He didn't, Harry. He said he was close, he'd rocked forward to jump but someone stopped him. He never knew who it was. They grabbed the back of his coat and he just ran until he couldn't run any more. By then the feeling had passed.”  
  
Harry wasn't even really listening to her by that point. His heart was racing and he felt nauseous. He was cold and hot all at once. The war had seen him lose people he loved, but nothing had come close to how he felt at that moment, imagining the friend whom he'd come to love splattered over a cold, dark railway line.  
  
“I left him,” he choked, suddenly not caring what Hermione may or may not know. “I left him. What if he tries again? What if-”  
  
He hadn't noticed that his fingers were in his hair and tugging until Hermione seized his wrists and forced them away. She took one look at his face and pulled him into an embrace so tight that Harry couldn't properly breathe. She guided him back to his seat and held him.  
  
He had no way of telling how much time passed whilst he sat against her, alternating between staring in horror and closing his eyes against the sight of the rocking Hogwarts Express.  
  
“We're nearly there.”  
  
It was dark outside the window. For the first time ever, he had not eagerly clung on for the first sight of Hogwarts twinkling against the night.  
  
“Come on.” Hermione tucked his hair behind his ear. “I'll look after you.”  
  
***  
  
The feast was long and, for many people, emotional. There were tears and hugs and so much noise that the teachers gave up and simply joined in. McGonagall had received a standing ovation for her 'Welcome Back' speech, and Hagrid was sobbing into his brandy.  
  
Harry was grateful that no attention other than the usual was paid to him during the meal. He'd had time to quickly scrub his face with water and Hermione gave him some eye drops to take the redness away, but he knew he looked rough. He felt it more than anything. Hermione kept shooting him worried looks between encouraging him to eat. Eventually she gave up and concentrated on her own meal. Harry just wanted to get to bed, to be able to react in a way which he alone would witness in the privacy of his four-poster.  
  
They had retained their old dormitory, even though it had suffered damage in the Battle. There had been another dorm added for the new Gryffindor incomers. Harry was glad to know that he would be going back to the same room, the same bed, the same tower. Change would have killed him.  
  
And finally, the feast was called to an end and they were ordered to bed. He walked numbly and aimlessly, directed only by Hermione's gentle touch on his arm. They climbed and climbed through the newly repaired building. He couldn't look at the corridor where Fred had died as they passed. Finally The Fat Lady came into view. Harry stared at her. Suddenly it seemed cruel to refer to her in such a rude, basic way. Surely she had a name, and her size shouldn't have come into it?  
  
Those thoughts saw him through the portrait hole and then he was smelling and seeing the beloved sights of his adolescence. He loved the tower. It was the nerve centre of his home. Hermione bid him goodnight and watched him up the staircase with a worried expression. Harry concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other until he came to the dormitory. The door was closed and he hesitated as he reached for the door handle. Inside it felt as though the last lingering shreds of his childhood remained and yet he was so completely changed, so much more adult than when he had last left the room, aged sixteen.  
  
He seemed to have an opportunity that people seldom had – the chance to go back to childhood whilst an adult, and appreciate it all the more.  
  
 _But with him missing, it won't be worth it..._  
  
Harry made to head back down the stairs, to march through the school and out of the grounds to somewhere he could Apparate to be with Ron, when the door the dormitory opened.  
  
“Harry.”  
  
Something hurt as he collided with Ron but Harry couldn't have said what. Ron groaned under the strain but remained solid as they grabbed hold of one another.  
  
“What're you doing here?” Harry mumbled into his shoulder.  
  
“I couldn't get the look on your face out of my head.” Ron kissed hard into his hair. “I never want to make you look like that again, Harry.”  
  
“We'll go home,” he responded quickly. “Let's go home.”  
  
“This is your home.”  
  
“But-”  
  
“Put a sock in it, Harry. We're staying. I'm not here completely. I'm only going to carry on with Charms and Transfiguration. I've offered to keep helping on the repairs and... well, George needs someone to help him pick up the business again.”  
  
“I thought you wanted to be an Auror...”  
  
“I do. And maybe I will be. But I think we all know that someone from the family is going to have to be the new Fred. Early indications are that George wants that to be me. I can't give him what he really wants, because I know fuck all about necromancy, but... I'll give him anything else. If that's my time instead of a career on my part then... sod it.”  
  
Harry stared at him, deeply touched by the kindness and selflessness of the young man in front of him.  
  
“And I want to be here for you,” Ron said firmly. “Because if this is what you need... I've spent seven years of my life being what you needed me to be and I'm not going to pack in now, am I?”  
  
Mostly speechless, Harry just shook his head. Ron pulled him close again and kissed his forehead.  
  
“We'll be okay,” Ron whispered.  
  
He sounded so calm and confident that Harry could easily have believed him. Only the shaking of Ron's arms gave him away.  
  
His newly gained knowledge at the forefront of his mind, Harry pulled back and looked up into Ron's face.  
  
“I'll be what you need.” His voice broke with unexpected emotion.  
  
“You already are.” Ron gave him a shy, crooked smile.  
  
“No, I mean it. I... I don't want you to...” he groaned, frustrated with his inability to talk.  
  
“What's wrong?”  
  
“Hermione said...”  
  
Ron sighed and looked down at his feet. “She is in _so_ much shit. Deep shit.”  
  
“I don't care that you didn't tell me,” Harry reassured him. “I don't. But now I know I can't get it out of my head and I'm so sorry, Ron. So fucking sorry.”  
  
“Don't be. It wasn't your fault.”  
  
“If it wasn't for me baiting you, you'd never have left.”  
  
“That locket had shoved me somewhere dark, Harry. You being sweetness and light wouldn't have changed what was going to happen. I honestly think it was what the locket wanted. To split us up. It almost worked...”  
  
Harry welled up then and his throat thickened; he turned away and tried to collect himself. Ron wrapped around him from behind and rested his chin on Harry's shoulder.  
  
“I love you,” Ron whispered, his breath tickling against Harry's ear. “And I probably always have and probably always will.”  
  
“Only probably?” Harry grinned at the wall.  
  
“Cocky shit.”  
  
Ron laughed into his ear and Harry closed his eyes.  
  
***  
The dormitory was full of the sounds of deep breaths. Harry was bone tired but he couldn't close his eyes for fear that when they opened again, nothing would be as it seemed. What he knew was that Ron was fast asleep in his arms, half-dressed and sticky with come.  
  
They'd had nearly an hour before their dorm mates had arrived, obnoxiously loud and full of chatter. Revelling in their secrecy, he and Ron had clung to one another and shared desperate, soundless kisses and gropes whilst their friends settled into their old four-posters around them and finally, one by one, fell asleep. Then Ron had sprung to life, pinning Harry to his mattress and taking his breath away. They both were in need of a shower.  
  
Harry assumed it was the early hours of the morning by the stillness in the room and silence beyond the mullioned windows. He nuzzled into the back of Ron's neck and inhaled. The scent made him shudder with pleasure.  
  
“Go to fucking sleep,” Ron muttered groggily.  
  
“I'm trying.”  
  
Ron rolled over and wrapped his arms around Harry, pushing his head into the crook of his neck. To be held was a wonderful thing, Harry thought.  
  
To be loved was even finer.  
 _-fin-_


End file.
